A fountain of pheromones, a bath in bleach,
Amorous anesthesia puts me to sleep.
Amoxicillin sex disinfects, leaving nothing unclean.

Cold, white, and sterile, like a hospital wall.
Find myself embracing paracetamol,
A creosote touch, but it's much more than just the usual call.

It leaves me wondering,
"What happens when poison expires?"

"It'll get better," you say.

Pretty lips injecting your novocaine words
Into the stream of my consciousness
From a hypodermic tongue.

Nothing gets under my skin quite like you.